Stephanie finishes up her patrol in Old Gotham before she meets Barbara back at the Batcave.

Barbara has accepted that Stephanie isn't going anywhere. She had made one, last-ditch effort to talk her out of it, but it hadn't worked. She hadn't even put her entire heart into it. How could she, if she was half convinced Cassandra and Stephanie were right, anyway?

So... that meant some changes in her life. A new Batgirl. New protege. New mission. Just what the doctor ordered, to be honest. Something to keep her mind off of the problems that lead to her disbanding the Birds. Not being good enough and making stupid mistakes. Feeling helpless. Everything else.

Stephanie trained with her tonight, because Cassandra is out on "secret." She hasn't told Barbara what she's doing yet, but Barbara's wondering how stupid Cassandra thinks she is if she assumed Barbara hasn't investigated yet. She owns a computer. She can read the news.

But honestly, sparring Stephanie is a nice break. Sparring someone outside of Cassandra's skillset – outside of God-tier martial artist – is doing Barbara some good. Letting her remember what she's capable of. Even if part of her advice is to remind Stephanie to take advantage of what she's not capable of.

"Stop fighting me on my terms," Barbara says to Stephanie, who she's got wrapped in an arm bar. "You have less training than a lot of people you'll fight. Never fight them on their terms."

She shoves Stephanie back, and Stephanie rubs her arm a bit. "I didn't fight Scarecrow on his terms," she says.

Barbara would argue she did. Stephanie was poisoned, hallucinating, and beating up a an enemy she was clearly imagining as an avatar for all of her issues. She pulled through brilliantly in the end, though.

Stephanie leaps at Barbara with a kick. Barbara holds her weapons out and relaxes her body, prepared to roll back with the kick, and when the two of them collide, Stephanie knocks Barbara on her back. Which suits Barbara fine. She didn't let go of Stephanie's foot. She just immediately flips herself over, shoves one of Stephanie's legs behind the other's knee, and braces Stephanie's other leg against her escrima, and leans forward, knee-barring her.

"Ow!" Stephanie taps three times on the ground, making Barbara release her.

Barbara pushes hard against the ground, flipping herself up. She's still strapped into her chair – she wears a seatbelt on most occasions, to protect against accidentally losing it in situations just like this. "Still on my terms," she says. "Don't tip-toe around the issue. What advantage do you have that I don't?"

"Uh... walking?"

"So use it!"

Stephanie gestures down at her own legs. "I am walking!"

Barbara sighs. "Mobility , Stephanie. Do you think when I spar Dick, he just charges at me a bunch? Crossing the distance between us just puts us on even footing. If you're more mobile than your opponent, use it."

Stephanie frowns slightly. "That doesn't seem fair."

Barbara narrows her eyes. She knows Stephanie's trying to be good-spirited, but she'd really rather people treat her like any other opponent in sparring. She doesn't want a pity-win. When she wins, it means something. And besides –

"I'm not training you to fight fair , Stephanie. I'm training you to win."

Stephanie nods and raises her hands again, ready for the next sparring match. She's waiting. Good.

Barbara tests Stephanie's patience – she doesn't come in immediately. Approaching from this position is always disadvantageous, anyway. She prefers to lure her targets inside her guard, but that won't work if she specifically told them it was a stupid idea not one minute before.

She presses the heels of her palms against her tires, pushing her forward slightly. Stephanie reacts accordingly and backs up.

Barbara repeats the move, then pushes off harder and raises her escrimas as she rolls. It's a bad, telegraphed move. Depending on how Stephanie reacts, she'll be able to change direction and attack her from behind – or not.

Stephanie jumps out of the way, and Barbara shifts her weight and presses backwards on one wheel, preparing to spin around, but as she's jumping, Stephanie kicks her in the back, sending her toppling forward.

Barbara lands hard on the floor.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry – !" Stephanie starts.

Barbara shakes her head and smiles. "Don't be," she says. "You're learning." She shoves herself up again.

Stephanie returns her grin. She hops on her feet a little, clearly excited for the next part of the match.

Barbara leans forward in her chair, preparing to move. Stephanie keeps bouncing, keeps light on her feet, and Barbara counts the one, two, one, two, of her up and down rhythm. Her feet just touch the ground, as she shoves off Barbara throws an escrima like a dart at the center of her body. She's in the air and can't change direction as fast, it hits with a whuck to her solar plexus.

Stephanie crumples.

Barbara wheels over and offers her a hand up. "Low blow," Stephanie says between deep breaths.

"It's a lesson," Barbara says. "Want another one?"

Another smile. "You know I do."

.

.

.

"So," Stephanie asks after sparring, after she's showered and changed back into her civilian clothing. "When do I get to meet the new Batman and Robin? I know it's not Tim anymore. He's on one of those manly 'I have to do this on my own, screw everyone else' things. Also, he can't be Robin, because the new Robin is like... four feet tall."

Barbara has no idea what Stephanie's talking about. Well, she does. She knows Tim is investigating what he considers Bruce's alleged death. But she has no clue why Stephanie assumes he's saying screw everyone else, unless there's something she missed. But she is so not equipped to deal with just-out-of-high-school relationship problems, and she knows Tim and Stephanie did have those problems, so she just says, "Four foot six."

"Huh?"

"The new Robin is four feet, six inches tall," Barbara says. "And with any luck, you won't meet."

"Why's that lucky?"

Because Barbara's only interacted Damian for a little bit, but she's already sure she's seen enough of him to know he and Stephanie won't get along. But she just asks, "What brings this up, anyway?"

Stephanie shrugs. "It might be nice..." she trails off, clearly not intent on finishing that.

"I'll talk to Batman," Barbara says, even though she knows she won't. Not about Stephanie, at least. Dick obviously still had his own unresolved issues about her, even if the two of them promised they'd trust each other on choice of proteges. Which isn't really fair, considering at least Stephanie's a legal adult who's never killed anyone before.

"Now get home," Barbara says, "Before you blow your secret identity."

Stephanie grins again and dashes off. A woman on a mission. Barbara wonders if she's going to have to tell her to take it slow. Like she did for Cass. Even if Cass never listened. Even if it's not quite something Barbara always has the hang of herself.

Hmm. Dispensing self-care advice is much easier than taking it.

Barbara starts mentally going over the lesson plan for today on the way home. She has a quick coffee date with Dad, then she's going to catch about two hours of sleep before she starts. Her schedule got thrown off when she started working her civilian job, and honestly, if she had to give it her all she'd probably not be equipped for it. It's not the most intellectually stimulating job. Assistant professor of a third-rate university at the Murder Capital of the World. That's how Wendy described it.

...

That assessment was not entirely inaccurate.

Honestly, Barbara can't think of many of the superheroes she knows who have desirable jobs. Oftentimes, it just seems like they're a way to pay the bills or maintain a secret identity. All of Dick's jobs – except for his brief time as a cop – fit that description. For most of the time she knew her, Dinah didn't even have a job – Barbara paid her a salary, like she pays all of her operatives.

Barbara honestly doesn't need the job at Gotham U to pay her bills. She has some funds – some from back when she was using Blockbuster's or other criminals' online accounts as piggy banks, some from Bruce, some from the legitimate business she made as a cover when the Birds were in Platinum Flats.

The real purpose of the job is keeping an eye on Stephanie and Wendy and getting out of the house. Getting out of her rut.

She parks and gets up to her apartment, where Dad is waiting outside. He looks... tired. He just got off an all night shift, just like she did. Barbara grabs her keys and starts unlocking the door.

"You were out?" Dad asks.

Barbara nods. She enters her apartment and Dad comes in right after her and locks the door behind them. Barbara nudges him to the side so she can re-enter her security codes.

"How was work?" Barbara asks.

A long, heavy sigh on Dad's part.

"That bad?"

"It's always bad, Babs."

Barbara nods. She doesn't think Dad hates his job, at least she hopes he doesn't. But she also wishes he hadn't gone back to work after his injury. He's given twenty years of his life to this city. He deserves to rest.

Barbara starts the coffee. On the kitchen table is an empty box of frozen waffles – Cassandra's work, Barbara's guessing. Cassandra comes and goes as she pleases and isn't really too picky about sneaking in to have a snack, and it is Barbara's fault for giving her a key and telling her to come in whenever, anyway.

"I heard you got a new job," Dad says. Avoiding talking about the work. That's fine. She already knows what happened from assisting Dick. "Professor or something...?"

Barbara snickers. " Assistant professor," she says. "Of computer science."

"How's it going?"

Barbara shrugs. "A little dull, to be honest."

"Does this mean you're quitting... your other thing?"

Barbara shakes her head. Your other thing. Even though Dad knew she was Oracle and she used to be Batgirl, he still refers to the vigilantism vaguely, probably out of habit. The Commissioner can't be seen knowing any secrets about Gotham's vigilantes. It'd turn his plausible deniability into a clear willingness to turn a blind eye to things that are technically crimes.

"I'm not quitting," Barbara says. "I just need something to do during the day. And besides, this apartment isn't going to pay for itself," she adds, because even though he already knows about Oracle, she's not going to let him in on the riskiness that is stealing from bad guys. She's sure he'd disapprove, anyway.

Dad nods and pulls out a chair to sit down. It wobbles slightly as he does.

Barbara will confess, the table isn't the nicest. Neither is the apartment. It was utilitarian in function. Her life didn't exist in the confines of her apartment building, her commute is longer than the distance from her bed to her computer now. Having to blow up the Clocktower taught her the dangers of putting all of her eggs in one basket. And it seems like there's no need to make her home nice if it's just her. She doesn't care if the table is wobbly or the paint is peeling, she'd only really get something fancy if someone was living with her.

Dad takes off his glasses and cleans them. He's still slumped at the table. Something's clearly bothering him. Barbara wants to prod it out of him, but...

Well, he normally likes a clear delineation between work and home. So she lets him bring it up, if he wants to.

"Barbara, you know I don't... I don't like to ask questions about this," Dad says. "As far as I'm concerned, the less I know the better."

Barbara nods. Definitely vigilante work, then.

"So I'm not going to ask questions." Dad puts his glasses back on. "But I need – I would like you to do me a favor."

Barbara nods again.

Another heavy sigh on Dad's part. "I don't know or want to know what's going on with the new Batman and Robin, as long as they're here to help."

"They are," Barbara says quickly. She remembers how shaken Dad's trust in Batman was when Jean-Paul had the cowl. She doesn't want that to happen again.

She also needs to tell Dick that his disguise doesn't work as well as he thought it did – though, she supposes, if anyone outside 'the family' was going to spot Batman changed, it was Dad. They've been friends for as long as Bruce was Batman.

"But Batman needs to get Robin under control. The kid was using excessive force during an interrogation tonight."

Barbara sighs. She's guessing Dad genuinely didn't have time to tell Dick this – he normally doesn't air whatever problems he has with Batman with her – or he was too unsure how the message would be received by the new Batman.

"I'll pass on the message," Barbara says.

Dad starts shaking his head almost immediately. "I'm not asking you to be my secretary, Babs.. I just... "

"What's the favor then?" Barbara asks.

Dad rubs his head. "Assurance, I guess. That you at least trust these people's judgment. That there's not something here I need to stop."

"I trust Batman's judgment," Barbara says. "Robin is... rough around the edges."

Dad nods. "Yeah, you're telling me," he says. "I guess that's to be expected with... with a kid in the field."

His voice gets quieter at the end. Barbara's not surprised. She'd be surprised if anyone except a vigilante was okay taking ten-year-olds into the field. It wasn't even something she approved of herself. Just because she saw Tim do good work as a kid doesn't mean it needed repeating. Because she also saw him almost die, Stephanie almost die, and for heaven's sake, they were just kids.

It wasn't fair.

"You can rest assured that at least Batman's not – that he's doing everything he can," Barbara says, keeping her voice carefully neutral. She has to change her line halfway through, because At least Batman's not going to let Robin kill anyone would raise a hundred more questions. Like Wait, what? I wasn't even worried about that in the first place, should I be now?! Why would a ten-year-old kill someone?!

Dad exhales and sits up a little straighter. "Sorry for dumping this on you, Babs," he says. "It's not... it's not something I ever wanted to do. It's what happened tonight – "

"I heard," Barbara says. About Dad having to go to the same place he was captured and she was injured, and –

She remembers staring up at the ceiling, thinking this is how you're going to die? What good is Batgirl if she can't even save one person? If she can't even save her father?

But it doesn't come hard, like a flashback. She doesn't feel like she's there. Though, she supposes, it helps that she barely felt like she was there when it happened. Once they'd gotten Dad out safe, everything became... almost robotic. Oh, huh, I can't move my legs. Oh, huh, I'm bleeding. Detached, out of necessity. She thinks Dad was freaking out more than she was at the time.

Barbara squeezes Dad's hand, and he leans forward and kisses the top of her head. It's an instant transportation back to being a kid, back to feeling like all she had to do was tell him what was going on and all of her problems would be solved. But life hasn't worked that way in fourteen years, and even if it could, she wouldn't want it to anymore.

"Here," Barbara says, to change the topic, "How about I dump on you, and then it will be even."

Dad smiles slightly.

"So," Barbara says, and starts pouring her cofee because it's ready now. "My, uh, technically my boss –"

"The non-assistant professor?" Dad asks.

"Yeah, him. He's explaining everything to me like I don't get it. 'I know it's a lot to take in, come and ask if you have any problems'."

"Did you tell him you got it?" Dad says.

Barbara chuckles. "I decided against fighting him on it, though I didn't ask for help in the first place. But I don't want to show anyone up."

"I find that hard to believe," Dad says. "You love showing people up."

Well, that's true. But that's in jobs where she's supposed to be all she can be. She doesn't know if that's a luxury Barbara Gordon has when she's Oracle's secret identity. Superman has a nerdy reporter, she has someone who's not very good at programming.

Still, she's not sure how much of the superhero/civilian persona dynamic is familiar with, and doesn't want to clue him in on it in case he uses it to put together the secret identities of everyone else in the family.

"I'll show him up today," Barbara says. "When I get in."

"That's my girl."

Dad smiles, and they just keep talking. About anything. What's been published in the Gotham Gazette . The newest movie that's out. What Barbara's reading. It's a weight off her shoulders. Just being normal. Even though normal has to get to bed very soon.

Dad's put his coat back on and starts to get ready to leave when there's a knock at her door. "You're popular today," Dad says.

Barbara nods. "I wish I was popular in a couple hours," she says. "After work and some sleep."

"I'll tell them to beat it," Dad says.

Barbara shakes her head. "Let me at least see who it is," she says, and wheels over to the door with Dad. She peeks through the camera, and on the outside is Dick.

He's tired as hell and every so slightly slouched, though at least he has no visible bruises or injuries. She wants to tell him to scram, but Dad's about to leave and she really figures making him run would just make Dad more suspicious. So she opens up the door to let Dad out.

"Dick?" Dad asks.

Dick yawns and covers his mouth. "Uh, hi, Commissioner," he says.

"Jim," Dad says.

"Commissioner Jim."

"Are you okay?" Dad asks.

Dick holds a thumb up. "Yeah, I'm fine," he says. "Just tired. I spent all night... partying. Woo." He gives a lackluster thumbs up.

Dad raises an eyebrow at Barbara.

"He learned from the best," Barbara says. "Playboys. You know." She grabs Dick's wrist and drags him in, trying to end the encounter before a sleep deprived Dick can say anything stupid. "Love you, Dad."

Dad quickly wraps a hug around her shoulders and says, "Love you too, Babs. Get some sleep before work."

"You too!"

Dad leaves, Barbara re-sets her security system, and Dick wanders in. "In my defense," Dick says as he's looking around the room, "I didn't know your dad was here."

"How could you have?" Barbara asks.

Dick shrugs.

He's still looking around, still seeming a little out of it, and Barbara wants to know what happened on his end. She knows the broad events – he lost Robin, found the bad guy – but she doesn't know the specifics.

"How are you?" Barbara asks.

Dick shrugs again, noncommittally. "What did your dad want?"

"To maintain a healthy familial relationship," Barbara says. She has no clue how to answer that. But, while Dick's here –

"He also expressed some concerns about Robin," Barbara adds.

Dick sighs heavily. "Of course he did," he says. He gestures at the couch and asks, "Can I sit down?"

Barbara nods. Physically, he looks fine, if a bit tired, but getting off his feet will probably do him some good. Especially with what she wants to bring up. "I have similar concerns," Barbara says.

Dick rubs his face and groans. "I thought we agreed to trust each other when it came to protege choice."

Which. They did. Though Barbara's getting the idea that the actual effect of the deal was just agreeing not to talk about it. She can still sense Dick's reservation around Stephanie, and everything she learns about Damian makes her trust him less, not more, as Robin.

Barbara sighs. She doesn't push it. Dick obviously came in here for something, and until she figures out, they might as well not start a spat.

Or, she figures, he could have just come here to see you. But he's been so busy lately that interpersonal relationships have been neglected.

... Okay, she's been neglecting them on her end, too. What can she say? Dealing with fires that pop up is comparatively easy to dealing with feelings.

Barbara wheels up behind the couch and leans on the backrest, so her face is right next to Dick's as he's slumped there.

Dick peeks at her, just moving his eyes, not his head. Then, he reaches a hand over and caresses her cheek. "God, I missed you."

Barbara grabs his hand and gently kisses the inside of his wrist, reciprocating the affection. She keeps holding his hand once she's done.

"What did bring you to my door, though?" She smiles a little and adds, "I know it wasn't the company."

Dick cringes. "God, I suck," he says. "Here. We don't have to talk about it. Whatever it was at first, it's the company now."

Barbara shakes her head, lets go of Dick's hand, and wheels back a pace. She'd actually rather he just owned up to whatever problem he came here with – if he did come here with a problem – so they can put their heads together and solve it. It's better to be in on the problem solving part, rather than just watching as he manically runs around everywhere but assures her everything's cool, like he did in Bludhaven.

"Babs?" Dick asks, turning over on the couch to look at her. He's still leaned against the backrest, but now his chest is against the backrest and his chin is resting on it and his arms are splayed out to the sides.

"Just get it off your chest," Barbara says. "Whatever it is. There's a problem you came here to solve. You'll feel better once we solve it."

Dick sighs and sits up a little. "Yeah," he says. "I mean, that's how you'd call it. That analytical brain thing."

"Brains are supposed to analyze, Dick. That's what makes them brains." She keeps a light tone in her voice, so he knows she's teasing him, not condescending him.

"Yeah, well..." Dick deflates and grimaces. "It's about Damian."

Nothing sexier than your sort-of boyfriend coming to you for advice on what to do with a stabby ten-year-old. But Barbara doesn't say that. She wanted a problem to solve, she's not going to complain about it being said in the wrong way.

"You already know my opinions about Damian," Barbara says, because she hasn't really been quiet on them.

"Yeah... I mean, no offense, I'm not kicking him out of being Robin."

Barbara frowns. "I didn't ask you to."

"I know, I was just nipping that in the bud cuz..." another grimace. "I don't know. I need advice, but not just firing the kid advice. I don't know if I did the right thing tonight."

"... Isn't this Alfred's area of expertise?" Not like Barbara's never dealt with proteges or kids before, but Cassandra was much older than Damian was when they started working together. Dealing with an almost-adult was much easier than dealing with a kid, even if the overall level of baggage was similar.

"I already talked to Alfred about it," Dick says. "Sort of, I mean. But he's too nice."

Barbara cracks a grin. "And you need someone who's not nice?"

"That's not what I meant. I mean, you're nice..."

Barbara shakes her head and gestures him forwards, even though he's on the couch and not moving. "No, I can be mean. Let's go. Tough love."

"Reality checking," Dick says. "Or nean."

"What?"

"Being nice by being mean," Dick says. "Nean."

"That's not a real word."

"You're the librarian. Aren't no words real?"

Barbara rolls her eyes. "That's a massive oversimplification. Get people to use it. Maybe it can be a neologism." She sighs and re-directs the conversation, as fun as debating the merit of made-up words is. "So what do you want me to be … 'nean' about?"

"You already know... well you already know what Damian did at the police station, I'm guessing?"

Barbara nods. She doesn't know how to feel about it. Being a vigilante moves the acceptable threshold for violence up higher than it is in most people's eyes, but that should make them more careful, not less.

"I chewed him out afterwards – "

"Good," Barbara says.

" – Yeah. But that's when he ran away."

"And you found him now?" Barbara asks. She assumes he has. If he hadn't, he'd probably be still out there looking.

Dick nods. "Yeah. But I just acted like nothing happened when we got back together."

"Well that's certainly the easiest solution."

"Is it the best one, though?"

Barbara shrugs. In her experience, when she's messed up, she has to actually get over herself and apologize for there to be any substantial change. Like when Helena found out about the reason behind their first missions. From the perspective of the one who was messing up, if Helena hadn't gone off and waited to be treated with the proper respect, Barbara probably never would've admitted she shouldn't have tried to 'fix' her without her knowing – to use the first missions out as a way to get Helena to wind down and take a different approach to vigilantism.

So she wants to tell Dick to just put his foot down. But she's also a reasonable adult and not ten, so what changed her behavior might not change Damian's.

"It depends on how much tolerance to bullshit you have," Barbara says.

"I don't think I have a high bullshit tolerance," Dick says. He frowns. "Do I?"

Another shrug on Barbara's end. "Look," she says. "You clearly came here wanting a kick in the pants, but I'm not sure I can give you one right now. How about we make a deal? If you start being an asshole or making stupid decisions, I'll kick you then."

Dick smiles slightly. "You were gonna do that anyway."

"True. Speaking of which – " she wheels over to him and pulls on his wrist. "Get your ass off the couch and brush your teeth. This is a kick in the pants to go to bed, because we both have stuff to do."

Dick nods, stands up, and rubs his eyes. "I'll head home," he says.

"If you want. If you don't want, there's a spare toothbrush in the bathroom." She phrases it like a 'totally-okay-if-you-duck-out' thing, because well, it is . But also that way she doesn't have to say stay here, I miss you.

And besides, she wants to be there for more than just the giving him a kick in the pants part. She wants to be there for the fun stuff too.

"... That'd be appreciated, yeah," Dick says. He trods off to the restroom to brush his teeth.

There's no dad, no proteges around, so now could be the perfect time to ask exactly what this is. What's going on with them, if Dick wants to actually have a talk about it. She's been perfectly content not bringing it up, just due to never having time, due to them both being busy...

But now, they're both tired and really need to get some rest. So she just finishes her nightly routine and gets in bed. Dick crawls in next to her and tentatively touches her shoulder, but then withdraws his hand. Barbara rolls over so she's leaning against him, rests her head against his chest, and lets the sound of his breathing lull her to sleep.